


Home.

by NerdTrash6000



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aliens, All the ships I listed are possible, Blood, F/F, F/M, None of them are necessarily confirmed yet, Rebellion, Slavery, Violence, just throwing that out there, possible gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdTrash6000/pseuds/NerdTrash6000
Summary: "No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness."-Aristotle





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gonna edit the tags later probably. I'm bad at everything. I'm sorry.

_Madness is no simple matter._  
  
(Name) (Surname) was alone once more, isolated in a tiny, dark cell for solitary confinement until she’d learned how to act towards her ‘superiors.’ It was in the dark she lay, staring into the abyss, unaware of everything outside the walls that became home. She twitched, perhaps even began to convulse in fear as footsteps approached, echoing forever in the empty halls.   
  
(Name) shifted, trying to keep from shaking, feeling around for something - anything - that may promise her freedom, perhaps even for a source of the chains that kept her in place, but to no avail. She looked for the door in the darkness, struggling to catch a glimpse of the light shining through any crack or crevice, any possibility of something, anything, that would keep the madness from creeping into her little head, like rats and beetles eating away at some rotting corpse.   
  
The footsteps stopped. She held her breath, as though it would save her from the potential of being thrown to the wolves in the arena that which she despised. Her body - slightly thinned from the denial of sustenance - still moved, squirming against the freezing, iron grip of the chains, when the door suddenly opened, the purple-hued lights shining right into her (color) eyes, causing her hands to fly up to her face, shielding herself from the sudden, painful flash.   
  
“Prisoner 8217c,” The guard began, nudging her with his foot, in hopes of rousing her before she went back to sleep. “Wake up.”   
  
(Name) looked up fearfully, her body still trembling, pulling the raggy, old clothes that had been hers for so long. She noted his almost reptilian facial structure, the way he watched her with those beady eyes of his. She barely managed to avoid a swift kick to propel her into movement.  
  
The guard merely watched her with those beady eyes, as though expecting her to get up, rip off the chains, and get back to work. But she’d been in solitary confinement for so long, he was almost sure she needed to readjust to the sudden change in atmosphere.   
  
“I’m here to reassign you,” He proceeded to unlock the chains, allowing them to fall off (Name)’s injured, tender flesh. She glanced up at him for a moment, before she looked down again, rising to her feet, despite how much she desperately wanted to just go back to sleep, perhaps forevermore. But the guard grabbed her chin, forcing her gaze back on his hideous face.   
  
“You will  _look at me_  when I’m addressing you, 8217,” he growled, even getting in her face, before he pulled away, still gripping his gun, as though preparing to shoot if she disobeyed. “Since you cannot be trusted to do simple tasks on your own, I’m supposed to escort you to every place you go throughout the time you’re awake. If you try the stunt you pulled again, it will be your last day standing. Am I clear?”  
  
(Name) was silent, staring at him with an indiscernible look on her face, as though struggling to show any kind of emotion she may have been feeling. The guard pointed his gun at her.  
  
“Go out in the hall.” He ordered, shoving her along with the tip of the gun, pressing it hard into her back, prompting her to move her feet quickly, practically jogging down the hall to get back to her job, despite how slow she was becoming. The hunger pains were almost too much to handle.   
  
They traveled through several different doors, past several loud rooms filled to the brim with the poor, unfortunate souls who chose to live, instead of being murdered for refusing to bow to their tyranny. (Name) looked at them, her own face contorted in concern as she watched the poor slaves being pushed to the ground, women being terrorized into submission. She had to look away when one of the slaves was struck across the face for “talking back.”   
  
It wasn’t until she reached a particularly large room that she began to slowly realize what job she was about to receive. She already saw the other women, ruthlessly cleaning the arena for the next fight. The blood coating all of the walls was visible, even from where she was standing.   
  
“What are you waiting for?” The guard snarled, jabbing her again with his gun, causing her nearly to fall as he pushed with the force he put into it. But she walked, still, entering the arena at direction. “ _Get to work!_ ”   
  
(Name) squeaked in slight fear, before she collected her supplies, joining the other women in the cleaning. She could still feel their eyes on her back.   
  
“(Name),” One of the women whispered, glancing at her with tired eyes. “Are you okay?”   
  
“I’m fine,” she answered, her shaking hands scrubbing the blood off of the wall. “I’m...so hungry,”   
  
“Will you be okay to work?”   
  
“Y-Yeah…”   
  
The other woman was silent for a moment, hesitating to say anything more as she scrubbed the wall, soon dipping her cloth in the provided cleaning solution.   
  
“That was a dumb stunt you pulled.” She finally stated after several moments of tense silence.   
  
“I was close, Anka. I came  _so close_  to getting out.” (Name) mumbled, frowning deeply as she scrubbed the wall slowly, arms still shaking. “You want to leave too, don’t you?”  
  
“Of course I do,” Anka answered, looking over at her. “But...it takes a lot of subtlety. You can’t just go and leave like you tried to do.”  
  
“Anka,” (Name) dipped her cloth in the cleaning solution, trying to curb her own volatile emotions. “It’s happened before, hasn’t it? You didn’t stop me-”  
  
“I  _tried_  to stop you,” Anka cut her off, looking almost irritated. “Trying to escape the way you did only got you put in solitary confinement. The only way to escape-” she paused, glancing up, as though checking to see if the guards had their gazes fixed on the two. When Anka figured out that they weren't, she turned back to (Name).   
  
“-would be if, by any chance, a  _miracle_  happened,” she kept her voice low, no longer scrubbing the wall.   
  
“A miracle?” (Name) echoed. “Like what…?”   
  
Anka stared at her, then smiled a little bit, as though a mother smiling at her own child. She chuckled, patting (Name)’s head, as she was vastly taller than her.   
  
“How innocent you are…” her slight accent shone through, silky and smooth, almost like honey, or sweet cream.   
  
“...Have you ever heard of Voltron?”   
  
(Name) stared at her, looking almost surprised at such a new name. Voltron?  
  
“Enlighten me,” She answered, turning back to the wall, “I want to know more.”  
  
“Voltron is a team of legendary heroes,” she began, her voice hushed enough for only (Name) to hear. “It was formed a little more than 10,000 years ago, made of five different lion-shaped ships. They sailed through the universe and saved countless lives. The lions...eventually disappeared, though,” Anka explained, still scrubbing the dried blood. It was practically part of the stone at that point.   
  
“Lions? A team of legendary heroes?” (Name) perked a bit, “Really…?”   
  
“People keep saying they won’t come back. But it just takes  _time_. They’ll be back, one day, if they aren’t already.” Anka still smiled, as though trying to reassure herself that it was all okay (Name) was quiet, pausing her movements as she tried to reason her way through the introduction of that information.  
  
“Anka...as much as I want to believe your story, I...don’t think I should count on a  _possibility_  that I’ll be saved.”   
  
“(Name)-”  
  
“I don’t want to die in here, Anka. Not yet. Not without a fight.” She answered, scrubbing more violently. “I have to leave. Regardless of the possibility of Voltron’s return.”   
  
“It’s  _dangerous_ , (Name),” Anka began to tremble with anger and concern. “I don’t want you to-”  
  
“I have a plan. And I’m not leaving you behind.”  
  
Anka was silent, then, throwing her rag into her bucket.   
  
“You're crazy,” Anka answered, frowning deeply. "They'll  _kill you,_  (Name)."  
  
“Trust me, my plan will work,” she answered, just oozing the bravado that she kept up, turning back to the wall, thinking back to the story of the man with a gash across his face that made it out. Her resolve was to go that same way, perhaps even leave a trail of blood in her wake, if need be. After all...  
  
 _No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaah,,,this is such a bad chapter. But oh well. I don't own Voltron, or you.

If one thing was absolutely certain, it was that it was too quiet in the castle for there to be nothing wrong.

 

There was just some odd feeling in the air. It almost seemed like everyone knew something was about to happen. The tenseness was thick enough to cut through with a butter knife, lingering like the smell of death.

 

Lance had no reason to worry, he was sure. Bad things happen all the time. This was just their life. It was their job, their purpose to investigate and defend. But it was still odd. He was certain he was never going to get used to the feeling he got when he and the other paladins would investigate the tragedies they did.

 

He sat in the throne room, just looking out those large windows, silent for the first time in a long time. He was sure that Keith was training to relieve himself of the painful tenseness, and Pidge was off somewhere researching. He knew for a fact that Hunk had been baking to ease his anxiety, as the air smelled almost like…cinnamon? That must’ve been it; brown sugar and cinnamon, among other things. It must have been a reminder of home. Maybe that’s why Hunk baked so much when he got nervous. Lance couldn’t be the only one missing the familiarity of earth, sleeping in his own bed at home, catching fireflies in summer, his mother, his grandmother’s cooking-

 

He jumped almost ten feet in the air as soon as he heard something of an alarm sounding, blaring, a nonverbal voice decreeing the presence of danger.

 

“What-?” he paused, brilliant blue eyes wide in realization.

 

Rushing in came Keith, armed with his Bayard, Pidge with her laptop, already trying to silence the alarm, Shiro already in his armor, Allura and Coran ready for battle… and Hunk, clad in his white and blue apron, a distraught look on his face, gripping a tray of cookies in trembling hands.

 

“Pidge, any luck on turning off the alarm?” Lance asked, perhaps a bit irately. He couldn't help it. It had been so quiet, it almost didn't matter how the air was tense and thick with too many emotions to fathom.

 

“I'm trying, Lance, don't get your panties in a bunch.”

 

Hunk fought back the urge to laugh, earning an exasperated sigh from Shiro. These damn kids were going to kill him. But he still managed to compose himself, fixing his gaze on Pidge.

 

“What’s setting it off?” he inquired, looking to the map that popped up on the blue, translucent screen. His eyes narrowed a bit. He recognized that red symbol.

 

“The Galra?” Coran stared at the map, a serious look on his mustached face. “I thought we destroyed the ship.”

 

“They must have rebuilt it somehow,” Allura answered, an edge to her voice. “We must investigate. Whoever is there might need help.”

 

“We can't attack for no reason, Allura.” Shiro cut in, crossing his arms. Allura cast her gaze on Shiro, a hard look on her face like she could, but probably wouldn't, take his head right then and there.

 

“They're not there for no reason, Shiro. Wherever the galra are, there will always be people who are being tortured and enslaved.”

 

“That's just the thing,” Pidge suddenly spoke up. “ There's…not really much in this area. There's a moon. And the remains of a planet. But otherwise, nothing.” Pidge looked up from her screen, a perplexed facial expression on her face, watching the red symbols on the map. There were suddenly more red symbols, rapidly moving.

 

Allura stepped closer to the map, watching closely.

 

“What…?”

 

“They're getting closer to the—”

 

“The galra ship!”

 

Suddenly, the tense silence was back. The paladins exchanged glances. They knew what they had to do.

 

——————

 

It was unclear how long she’d been out of that tiny cell by the time she inevitably was confronted once more for something or other. It didn’t take much to egg on the guards, really; one tiny misstep in the grand choreography of things could mean utter death, if nothing worse. It wouldn’t matter if she died on the ship or not. Neither voltron nor any other organization can save her from this fate. She could only save herself. Especially if Voltron was no longer alive. In secret, she would strategize, plan, even sometimes discuss whilst she spent some nights sleeping in the same room as the other female slaves.

 

Almost like she was practicing being human again, and not just a meaningless piece of matter floating through the vacuum of space, she told them stories of earth; the days where the skies cried and she could jump in the puddles if she so desired to, the summers she spent camping outside, the days she spent dreaming of what lay beyond the earth. It was still odd knowing how far from home she was. But she would return one day. She had to keep repeating that, lest she desired a death at the hands of a cruel Galra. At this rate, though, she was sure she’d die from being overworked. Her job had changed once more, and she was left to clean up in one of the rooms belonging to one of the more prominent Galra guards.

 

She stood, facing the door’s opening, face to face with a galra soldier. She gripped her cleaning bucket tightly with two hands, standing defiantly, as tall as she possibly could, even though the guard was easily much taller than her by at least two feet. She stared blankly at his face, (color) eyes still shining with the fire that refused to die out as it had for other slaves.

 

“Your job isn’t done yet,” He began, “Get back to work, Woman. You still need to organize the books.”

 

(Name) was still silent, a glare crossing her face as she thought about what he said. She stared at him, trying to keep from flinging it at him, knowing that if she did, she would be bleeding out on the floor. However, she soon feigned relaxation, smiling as innocently as she could before she spoke.

 

“I’m just trying to find a place to put some things.”

 

“Is that so?” The guard grumbled, watching her with suspicious eyes before nodding his head toward a desk sitting against the wall, possibly meant for the Galra guard to do paperwork of some kind. (Name) supposed no one could escape the wrath of responsibility. Not even Galra guards. Damn you, paperwork.

 

“Put whatever you’re putting down on that desk. Make sure _everything_ is organized.”

 

(Name) nodded, peeking past him and out the door and taking note of the other slave in the hall standing face to face with another guard, quietly disputing. Their voices were almost blocked out due to all the noise of activity, a euphony (Name) never necessarily got tired of. As annoying as it was to hear it, the sounds of their chatter and movement just proved that freedom was still possible. And (Name) wasn’t going to let her opportunity slip away. She watched the other human woman, how she stood before the Galra guard, looking ready for liberty or death.

 

“What are you looking at, woman?” The guard began to turn, in hopes of seeing what was so damn intriguing.

 

“O-Oh, nothing, Sir,” (Name) feigned a meek smile, even if there was nothing meek behind it, that lively fire still burning within her. She turned away, glancing quickly at the human woman. For a moment, they locked gazes. The plan was soon to be set in motion. It was soon that (Name) started toward the desk, her legs carrying her fast.

 

Suddenly, as (Name) reached the desk and began to empty her bucket, there was a clamor in the corridor, prompting the guard in the doorway to peek out, as though desperate for some action of a desperate woman seeking death. In that moment in which the guard paid little attention, (Name) found herself grabbing a small item - a taser-like weapon - and stuffing it in her bucket, under the rag she normally used to clean up spills. When the guard turned back, she assumed her innocent facade again, tidying the office ever so carefully, if only to avoid being beaten and left to die on a cold floor.

 

The job soon ended, and it was time to return to the slave quarters, carrying her bucket carefully, as did the other slaves, filing back into the crowded room, where there were only so many beds and a majority of them were left to sleep without blankets. Sometimes, she would be awake all night, struggling to console Anka as she cried herself to sleep, riddled with anxiety regarding her fate.

 

But, for now, she was in the slave quarters. Whilst everyone else was preparing for bed, she was wide awake, excitedly fidgeting with her new play-toy. She took her spot on the floor, deciding she didn’t need a bed - not if she was leaving soon. The women around her sometimes glanced at her, knowing she was likely to try again soon, perhaps waiting to see everything just blow up in (Name)’s face. Some of them talked quietly amongst themselves, different ages and races relating in the face of misery. Even with some of the mocking, almost envious eyes, there were some who constantly followed (Name) with their gaze, as though hoping she would succeed, and return hope to their grief-stricken lives, as though she would rise up and become their shield.

 

But Anka watched (Name) suspiciously as she settled in her spot beside her. Was she truly still trying?

 

“(Name),” she began, whispering as though it would keep any attention from gravitating towards them. “What are you doing-?”

 

“I told you I had a plan, Anka,” (Name) answered quickly, inspecting the weapon very, very carefully. It was large enough that it would hurt to hold for an extended period of time, but small enough that she could easily hide it. The surface was rather smooth. It looked almost like a hand-gun, but with two metal prongs instead of a barrel for a bullet. She pulled the trigger, and watched as the blue electricity sprang to life before her. She looked to the knob on the side that, if adjusted, changed the intensity of the electric shock that the weapon would deliver. Anka flinched a bit upon hearing the sound, but still rested a hand on (Name)’s shoulder.

 

“(Name), this is _insane_ . You can’t do this,” Anka grumbled, still trying to detract from the attention. “I’m _serious_. You’d be safer if you waited for someone to come get you-”

 

“What, like _Voltron_ ?” (Name) scoffed, “You said they disappeared. I can’t bet my _life_ on the possibility that they’re suddenly back.” She gave a hard look to Anka, who merely frowned in response as the Earth woman before her proceeded to set the taser down and begin to pull on her shoes again, as she’d taken them off momentarily, just to rest her aching feet. “I’m taking you, too, Anka. Three is stronger than one.”

 

“ _Three_?” Anka echoed, her eyes slowly widening. “...(Name).”

 

“Relax. I didn’t mention this to anyone other than you. But this baby,” She held up the machine triumphantly. “Is our ticket to freedom. I’m naming her Justice.”

 

Anka was silent. She merely stared at (Name), before she sighed and looked away.

 

“(Name), we both know it won’t work. Why don’t you go to sleep?”

 

“I can’t.” (Name) didn’t look up from Justice, merely inspecting it, wondering if she could, perhaps, upgrade it to utilize it as a far, far more effective weapon. Perhaps if she got out, she could try. “I’m in too deep.” Suddenly, her body was filled with excited energy, like her being was made up of hot particles bouncing uncontrollably at the possibility of freedom.

 

Unfortunately, though, the room fell totally silent as footsteps were heard coming down the hall.

 

Panicking, (Name) gripped the taser tightly, barely managing to hide it in time as she proceeded to lay down and pretend to sleep, silently urging Anka to follow her lead. She listened to the sound of those footsteps, struggling to ignore the voices of all the guards’ constant, loud chatter. She squeezed her eyes shut, as though preparing for the awful feelings that came from the way those guards look at her. She anticipated the sound of the opening door, and out of instinct, began to fidget with her dress in hopes of hiding her body. The perverted, yearning looks she tended to receive were insult enough. She sought nothing more than the ability to at least be able to sleep in peace.

 

But such opportunities were just out of reach. There was never a time where they weren’t watching. There was no springing to life and fleeing as she would have loved to do, no more dancing, running, jumping unless told to do so. She held her breath as the door opened. She tried to stay absolutely still, hearing the footsteps grow closer. They were heavy, as though this new person was preparing to kill someone.

 

(Name) froze in place, keeping her eyes shut. The familiar fear sprung to her chest again, praying she wouldn’t die right then and there. Her resolve remained to fight back with everything she had.

 

But (Name) was no wonder woman; she did not possess the strength to tear metal, and she was smart enough, _just smart enough_ , to make it out, if only her timing had been better. She was no exceptionally fast runner, no amazon woman trained in combat. But she was smart. And she was so close to getting out. And yet, here she was; a pretty bird in a tiny cage.

 

“8217,” The Galra man addressed, nudging her cruelly with his boot, as though threatening to stomp her to death. “Get up.”

 

(Name) was silent to that, shifting ever so slightly.

 

“Get up, 8217,” the soldier grumbled, reaching down with his long arms, grabbing her by the collar of her dress and lifting her to her feet. “Are you deaf?”

 

“What’s going on?” (Name) asked softly, opening her eyes, soon - taking note of the terrified women watching the scene unfold from their spots on the floor, or in hard beds.  The Galra guard growled, then shoved her harshly against the wall, causing (Name) to almost fall. One of his hands clasped around her neck.

 

“ _Admit_ it, Foolish Woman,” he barked, “You stole something from me.”

 

(Name) gasped in surprise as he gripped her tightly with his large hand, immediately struggling against his grip, her panic only rising as his much larger body drew closer. She was forced to meet his gaze, tears threatening to roll down her face as he strangled her. She gasped for air, grabbing at his hands, consciously knowing that if she tried to tase him, it wouldn’t end well, and everything would’ve been for naught. Soon, just as (Name) thought she was going to die, the guard’s grip loosened, before it disappeared.

 

(Name) nearly fell to the floor, gripping at her bruised neck, trying to regain her breath. Through blurred vision, she could see Anka standing above the guard, her sharp, impala-like horns covered in blood. She watched the bleeding guard, soon delivering a complimentary kick to the head. Soon, she looked up again at (Name), as though telling her without speaking that the plan was a go.

  
  
(Name) glanced at the guard who passed out. It was now or never. She stepped over his body, gripping the taser tightly, ready to aim and fire the probes to electrocute any foe who stands in her way.

 

She peeked out of the room. At the given moment, there were no guards in the hall. They must have been in the middle of switching shifts.

 

Quietly, ever so quietly, (Name) left the room, followed by Anka, already certain of which route she wanted to take, navigating the corridors like it was home on earth.

  
  
However, (Name) was face to face with unfamiliar territory, a corridor that was always noisy, filled to the brim with doors that always threatened to open. Work was always being done behind those doors, and (Name) didn’t want to stick around to see what exactly they were doing. She could almost swear she heard the screams of slaves desperate for the experiments to end.

 

“Anka,” She spoke up soon, “Do you know where we are-?”

  
  
“Shhh,” Anka hushed the Earth woman. “We need to be quiet-”

 

“Who’s there?” A voice called out, prompting the both of them to fall silent. (Name) froze for a brief moment, before she turned to face the man who’d caught them. “What are you doing out of your quarters?”

 

Anka held very still, resisting the urge to charge and impale their captor just like she’d impaled the guard who was choking her dear friend near-to-death. (Name), however, had no intention of letting the guard capture her again. She wasn’t going back to that cell. Not again. Not ever.

 

“Lay down on the ground, both of you!”

 

(Name) began to charge up the taser, taking aim, and firing. Within seconds, the Galra guard was on the floor convulsing violently from the pain of the shock. Once it was over, he would just lay on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling. There was no reaction as (Name) took his gun from his hands, charged it, and shot at one of the surveillance cameras on the ceiling, effectively disabling it and rendering it useless.   
  
All of a sudden, there were alarms, and flashing red lights. (Name) looked up, startled, but began to run, followed by Anka. They came to a new hallway, but before they even got the chance to flee it, there was another guard.   


(Name) passed the taser to Anka, deciding she wanted to shoot to kill, recognizing the guard enough that she could vaguely remember the way he threw her into the slave's quarters during the first night.

  
  
“(Name)-!”

  
  
“Surrender immediately!” The guard barked, taking aim with his own gun, only to be shot at by (Name), who missed her intended shot by far. He watched her, looking startled, as though he didn’t fully expect a tiny human woman to gain possession of a gun made for the hands of a Galra man. But he still took aim, and he still fired right back. He promptly nailed her in the leg, causing her to falter. Still, she took off running as fast as she could, even if the pain reduced her run to something of a limp. In the event in which the guard became distracted, trying to take proper aim in which he could execute the escaping slave, Anka took a chance to impale him, as she did with the first guard. She found herself cringing at the squelching sound of her horns penetrating his skin and absolutely destroying his organs. He cried out in pain, only to be silenced as Anka took another stab, this time lacerating and cutting into vital organs. Anka gave no mind to the blood running down her horns and getting in her hair as she pulled her horns out of his flesh. Instead, she focused on (Name) as she proceeded out of the hall, taking a turn down another in desperation to find the exit. To her anguish, she was met with more battle.

  
  
There were too many for her and Anka to fight on their own. The gun was knocked out of her hand in a hand-to-hand battle, and she was struck on the head with the butt of the gun, effectively leaving (Name) to fade in and out of consciousness. They’d already grabbed Anka, that much (Name) was sure of, following the injury she received.

  
  
“Anka!” She called out, even amid the injury to her head, but it grew increasingly difficult to speak.

  
  
“(Name!)” Anka called in return as she was dragged off. “I’ll be fine-!”

 

There was a sudden sound, one that (Name) couldn’t place. Anka said nothing more. (Name) couldn’t even tell if she was even in the vicinity anymore.

 

One moment, she knew the Galra guards were upon her, the next, a strange man with a scar on the bridge of his nose was knelt on the ground beside her. He looked at her face, touched her neck as though checking on her pulse. He moved her head enough that when she opened her eyes, she could look at his face in full detail, even if to her it seemed like an illusion of false hope.

  
  
“Hello? Can you hear me?” The voice was not familiar in the slightest. She opened her eyes fully to look at him, the deep depths of her (color) eyes focusing only on the scar. She didn’t speak. He gathered her in his arms carefully, grunting softly as he plucked her from the ground where she would have died. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

 

But was it true? (Name) couldn’t be certain. She heard him speak, and yet the only thing that resonated was the phrase, “It’s okay.”   
  
Perhaps she was irredeemably mad, thinking this would work. This man was unfamiliar. Her head was fucked up. She was in between consciousness and the abyss of an unwakeable slumber. She couldn’t help the idea that it was bullshit - what the mysterious man said. She allowed herself to slip fully into unconsciousness, in too much pain to even consider the fact that this injury, alone, might be her end. She supposed it didn’t matter.

 

_For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one._


End file.
